


hard to reach, cold to touch

by astankovas



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 100 percent pain, Angst, Cheating, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, eve is destroyed, villanelle cheats on eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astankovas/pseuds/astankovas
Summary: in which villanelle burns bridges and eve burns from the inside outorvillanelle cheats on eve and they don’t know where to go from here
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 69
Kudos: 175





	hard to reach, cold to touch

_The fire inside Eve is first sparked at a New Year’s Eve party hosted by the boss of the shitty traffic management firm she works for. Bored at home with barely any non-work friends and a financially debilitating nicotine addiction that only worsens when she’s alone for big occasions like this, Eve doesn’t exactly have a good enough reason to talk herself out of it._

_So here she is, surrounded by easily one hundred random coworkers she’s never actually spoken to before in a hill-side mansion owned by her boss, with copious amounts of alcohol decorating every surface in every room and an ever-growing buzz for the New Year just short of three hours away. 2013 has been the worst year of Eve’s life, with her girlfriend leaving her, unprovoked, for some other woman in the beginning and the sudden, unexpected death of her father shortly after. Anything 2014 brings her will be exponentially better than the mess she’s leaving behind in 2013._

_“Eve, there’s someone I want you to meet,” her work best friend, Elena chirps excitedly, whisking her off towards the garden as soon as Eve has finished pouring her first drink, leaving her no room to protest. “There’s a bunch of new hires in the admin department and one girl is so cool and funny and she’s freshly single.” She practically sings the last two words._

_Eve laughs a little, knowing just how much her department want to set her up with someone after witnessing her utter heartbreak in the former part of the year and her subsequent going-off-the-rails in the latter part of the year. They tried to set her up with Lisa from Health and Safety and Rebecca from Construction and Debbie from HR (and countless other women in the office who Eve has absolutely nothing in common with other than her sexuality) until they completely ran out of lesbians to pair her with._

_“Is she gay?” Eve asks, playing along with it by now. You never know, maybe one day their questionable match-making skills might pay off, and it’s nice to see them excited about potentially getting her laid for once._

_“She sure is. And she’s hot as shit. I’m straight and engaged and even I have a crush on her,” Elena babbles, dragging Eve by the arm and excitedly pulling her along until they’re outside. “Okay. There she is. You see the girl in the grey suit?”_

_And holy shit, maybe Elena was right for once. Normally, she sets her up with women she would never choose on her own accord, and for good reason. But this girl really is hot as shit. Standing alone smoking, face lit up by the soft glow of their boss’s fancy garden lights and the flame from her cigarette with an aura that just screams ‘cool as fuck.’_

_“Villanelle!” Elena shouts, waving at the girl and catching her attention. When she looks over, Eve can now fully admire the girl’s face and hair and outfit and posture and stature and she’s almost lost for words. The girl is significantly younger, early twenties if that, and Eve accepts that she probably won’t be interested in someone older. As they walk (or in Elena’s case, jog) closer to the girl, it becomes clearer that she’s looking Eve up and down just as Eve is doing to her. When they’re finally standing within talking distance, Elena pants out, “This is my friend Eve! She’s the girl I was telling you about.”_

_“Oh. You’re the one with the piece of shit ex-girlfriend, huh?” the girl asks with a smile, and Eve quickly shoots a glare at Elena for telling random strangers her business once again. She can’t stay too mad, though, because she’s distracted by the thick, vaguely European accent and soft, gentle tone enveloping her ears. Confidence is physically dripping off this girl, pooling on the floor and getting Eve’s feet wet. Elena quietly excuses herself, no doubt just to stand by the kitchen window and watch them make awkward small talk so she can kid herself that she played Cupid well. “My name’s Villanelle. I’m one of the new girls. I’m the one who sends and forwards all the emails that you ignore.”_

_“Nice to meet you,” And Eve feels fucking shy. She doesn’t get shy. But Villanelle is studying her face so intently and watching every change in facial expression and nervous fidget with this beautiful, assured smile on her face. “It’s nice to put a face to the passive-aggressive email spammer.”_

_Villanelle giggles at her words, looking down at her feet almost shyly, the first indication that this girl has any other emotion than annoyingly cocky. “I’m not passive-aggressive, it’s just how I type. You’re an accountancy assistant, right?”_

_They get to talking about work. Their job is seriously nothing to write home about, they provide an outsource service for roadworks and organise necessary road closures. All Eve has to do is work out how much companies and councils owe them and draft sales invoices and process supplier invoices as appropriate, and Villanelle’s job is just to chase up these payments and communicate any updates to the rest of the office. It’s a typical 9-5 office job with perpetual gossip surrounding who’s-sleeping-with-who and the typical cattiness expected from bored, unsatisfied, middle-aged women. Eve thinks it’s refreshing to talk to this woman, who isn’t concerned over ‘What is Melanie wearing?’ or ‘Look at Karen throwing herself on the construction boys as usual.’ Villanelle talks about the other aspects of the job, how nice everyone has been so far and how exciting it is that the boss orders them all pizza on their lunch break every Friday. Her outlook is exponentially positive and it makes a huge difference from the usual dull, depressing work-related conversations._

_“So, you’re freshly single?” Eve asks when the conversation naturally takes them to a place of relationships and loneliness, with Villanelle expressing that she hopes she can make some lasting friendships in her new job because she has none out-with._

_“Yep. We were together for nearly two years. Just didn’t work out, I guess.” Villanelle shrugs, throwing her finished cigarette butt into a nearby bin. “She said I have commitment issues.”_

_Eve laughs breathily at this. “Did you cheat on her?”_

_“No.”_

_“Text other girls?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then what’s her problem? My girlfriend left me for a twenty-something businesswoman at the start of the year after four years together. No warning. That’s what you call commitment issues.”_

_Villanelle rolls her eyes and holds out her box of cigarettes, motioning Eve to take one and then lighting the end for her when she holds it between her lips. “I’m so sorry. Breakups really suck, right?”_

_“I know. And there’s nothing like New Year to remind you of how lonely you are. It’s my first time spending New Year’s Eve alone in like seven years. My plan is to get drunk off my ass and forget that I’m sad.”_

_Villanelle laughs and touches her arm gently, spreading heat through her body like Eve’s skin is a tinder and Villanelle’s hand is a lighter. “Good plan. I’ll do the same. Since we’re friends now and I don’t know many other coworkers, you’re stuck with me all night. Wanna get another drink?”_

_And with that they’re back in their boss’s kitchen, accepting shots of flaming sambuca and tequila slammers dished out by the young, horny construction boys, giggling and talking as they get drunker and drunker (much to the approval of their matchmaking mutual friends watching them from afar.) Eve barely even talks to her friends the entire night, too caught up in this new, interesting girl, listening to her stories and feeling the embers fly upwards through her body with every brief touch to her side or brush against her ass or protective hand on her lower back as they navigate through the crowd._

_It’s 11:57pm when they pour one more shot each, a classic vanilla flavoured vodka shot, and head back outside to the garden where they met and talked and smoked hours earlier. Their boss’s mansion sits atop a hill, with the entire city visible from certain points in the garden, sky pitch black save for hundreds of house lights and the occasional early fireworks. A few couples are standing in the grass looking out just like Eve and Villanelle are doing, too caught up in their own partner to take in anyone else. When Eve begins to shiver and bounce her feet a little from the cold December wind, she feels an arm wrap round her waist and Villanelle pulls her in against her side, warming her up instantly._

_“Beautiful up here, huh?” Villanelle muses as she looks down upon the view, pointing out every firework she sees in the distance, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down Eve’s waist and tilting her head so that it rests on top of Eve’s. She turns to Eve and clinks their still-full shot glasses together and exclaims, “Here’s to our first New Year’s alone!”_

_They hear the countdown to 2014 begin, from the couples surrounding them in the garden, from the loud, rowdy crowd inside the house, from neighbours in the houses around them and echoed from civilians in the city streets below._

_“5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Happy New Year!”_

_Both girls clink their shot glasses once more and swallow down the liquid in one go, grimacing as the nail-polish-remover-esque taste hits the back of their throat. Before Eve can even open her eyes after taking the shot, she feels a hand on the back of her head and fingers resting firmly on her waist and soft lips pressed against her own. And Villanelle is kissing her. Not just a platonic, friendly ‘we’re both alone so fuck it’ kiss, there’s teeth and tongue and hands tugging gently in hair and Eve squeaks with initial shock before relaxing into it. The sounds of fireworks and cheering and laughing are drowned out when their hearing tunnels, only able to focus on one thing. Other couples audibly finish their brief New Year’s kiss, mingling and drinking and shaking hands with one another, but Eve and Villanelle are still going at it, tasting the alcohol on each other’s tongues and exploring each other’s mouths like their lives depend on it._

_Eve is burning up. Inside, outside, mentally, physically. It’s like when a wildfire rushes through a forest, burning down the old, dying trees and allowing new forest to emerge from beneath. Like a phoenix combusting, bursting into flames until she’s a heap of ash and dust, only to rise up from the ashes a new soul. The fire inside purifies her body, ridding her of all the bad memories and experiences and pain in the way God sent a rain of inferno and brimstone over Sodom and Gomorrah to rid them of their impurity. Every touch leaves scorches on her skin that she can feel long after Villanelle moves away, hanging on her hands and lips and tongue and just her entire being._

_Reluctantly pulling away after a solid minute, Villanelle takes a deep breath and giggles, taking in Eve’s shocked, impressed smile. “Happy New Year.”_

_(And when Eve finds herself back at Villanelle’s apartment that night, the blaze inside her only intensifies. By the end of the night when they finally settle down to sleep after hours of fucking, she’s literally a pool of lava, probably burning holes into the sheets and mattress and wooden floor. Villanelle’s arm wraps around Eve’s naked waist to sleep and there’s no way either of them can let this end. They have to make this last forever.)_

-

It’s 2020 when the fire diminishes, leaving nothing but destruction and rubble in its wake. 

After a rare, almost unheard of day-off from her relatively new job as an accountant in a law firm, Eve is bumbling around the house. Her perfectionism always gets the better of her and she physically won’t rest until everything is neat and clean and tidy. Groceries have been bought and put away neatly in their designated places. (A box of Villanelle’s favourite, grossly overpriced cereal takes pride of place on top of their fridge as a surprise gift.) The ironing board is neatly folded up and placed back in the cupboard after she spends an hour ironing both girls’ clothes while watching reruns of CSI and drinking copious amounts of coffee. Toilets are bleached and floors vacuumed and counters wiped down and important phone calls made and all-in-all, Eve is happy with her day-off productivity. 

It’s just after 7pm when Villanelle finally gets home from work. Having recently progressed into a managerial position in the traffic management office that brought them together in the first place, she is required some days to work slightly longer hours than before. It sucks to have a little less time together on the weekdays, but the extra income allows them to build up savings for their upcoming wedding and honeymoon, so it’ll all be worth it eventually. They’re thinking Tahiti or The Maldives for their honeymoon. Somewhere hot and secluded where they can relax, forget about everyday stresses and just enjoy the beginnings of married life together. Eve, sweet, organised Eve has brochures for every Polynesian island and typical luxury honeymoon spot, making lists of pros and cons for each destination. Villanelle always tells her she plans too much, that she’d literally be happy with a honeymoon in a hostel in Camden if it meant they were together. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Eve smiles as Villanelle walks into their house, taking her shoes off and locking the door behind her. She hangs up her jacket, wet from the rain and smiles warmly at her fiancée. 

“Hi, baby. Sorry I’m late, Marie phoned in sick so I had to do both of our jobs all day.”

“Stressful?” Eve asks with a knowing eyebrow raise, having experienced first-hand how the company expects one person to handle multiple peoples’ responsibilities. Villanelle walks over to where Eve is standing, polishing up the TV unit and pecks her on the lips. 

“I wanted to die all day. Did you already eat without me?” Villanelle asks, noting the smell of food drifting throughout the house. 

Eve shakes her head. “I made us a pasta bake thing. It’ll be ready in like fifteen minutes.”

“God, I love you.”

Villanelle sits down on her designated spot on the couch, ushering Eve to sit down next to her to cuddle her for a couple minutes. It’s been six and a half years and the sparks have never died, only growing and growing until they’re a raging, inextinguishable wildfire. Touching and kissing and holding Villanelle like this never gets old, even after all this time. Eve can’t help but think something’s up with her though, looking a little spaced out and worried about something. She lets it slide. Work has been putting her through the ringer like nothing on Earth recently. 

Instead, Eve motions to a couple wedding venue brochures on the coffee table, lifting them up to look through them with Villanelle. One’s a castle in the Scottish Highlands, boasting beautiful scenery and Michelin Star chefs in the most beautiful ancient architecture. One’s a modern barn conversion, with fairy lights dangling from wooden beams on the ceiling and beautiful white decor. One’s a venue specifically built for weddings, perched on a vast lake with beautiful photo backgrounds and world-renowned, experienced event staff. Villanelle makes a comment about how they’re all beautiful and Eve should pick her favourite. And it feels like a cop out, just as it always has recently. Eve does all the planning and work and organisation when it comes to these things, with Villanelle just going along nonchalantly with anything Eve suggests. It’s fine to a point, but when Villanelle can’t even express any solid feelings or opinions anymore, it gets a little frustrating. 

“I called these two venues today,” Eve points to the lake venue and the barn venue. “They’re happy to see us for a consultation but they want a rough time estimate before they book us in. Even just a guess at the month and year of the wedding is fine for them. I told her I’d get back to her because we still need to decide if we’re getting married before or after the baby comes.”

And Eve swears she feels Villanelle tense up at the mention of the baby. 

They’ve been on an NHS waiting list for IVF treatment for the past eleven months, with roughly seven months to go until it’s finally their turn for the procedure. It’s been a long, confusing, stressful, drawn out waiting game for the girls, who are just desperate to have their own baby sometime within the next two years. It can’t come quick enough. Their place on the waiting list is determined by the age and fitness of the mother, and with Villanelle being a healthy, twenty seven year old gym-goer, they have a pretty high chance of first-time success, garnering them a place further back on the list. 

“I guess the main pro of getting married beforehand is that we won’t have a little poop-machine to be running around after on our big day. And we can enjoy our honeymoon without mother’s guilt as well.” Eve begins, looking up at Villanelle for any hint of agreement or disagreement, only to be met with the usual distant expression she’s come to expect with these conversations. “Cons, you might have a baby bump in your wedding dress. Or if the baby is born, we’ll spend half the day fussing over and worrying about them. But if they aren’t born yet we won’t get to see our little one dressed up all cute as a flower girl or page boy.”

Villanelle shrugs. “Either option sounds perfect to me.”

“Can you just pick one? I feel like I’m doing all the wedding planning and you’re just going along with anything. I want it to be perfect for both of us. Your opinion matters too, sweetheart.”

“Well, we can think about it a little more and get back to them in a few days. Getting married within the next seven months is a little too short notice. I think the best option would be getting hitched while I’m pregnant, post morning-sickness but pre mega-bump.”

Eve breathes a quiet sigh of relief, hearing the first genuine input from her fiancée in months. Input of any kind is hugely appreciated, having grown too used to the dry, unenthused “cool” “yeah, whatever you want” “sounds good to me” comments over the last few months. 

(She doesn’t miss the way Villanelle struggles to look her in the eye any time they talk about wedding or parenting stuff, though.)

-

“My head hurts so bad.” Villanelle complains from where they’re cuddling on the couch watching the tail-end of some shitty straight-to-TV Hallmark romance movie. They’re wrapped in a fluffy blanket with full tummies and tired eyes. 

“I bet. You’ve been working yourself to death recently.” Eve coos, placing a hand on Villanelle’s forehead to feel her temperature and soothe her a little. “God, you’re burning up. I have ibuprofen in my bag, give me a second.”

Eve returns momentarily with two pills and a glass of water, urging Villanelle to take them, despite her hatred of being fussed over. She could be on her death bed and hide it like a prey animal, not wanting to worry Eve any more than she already does. Eve always knows when something’s up, though. 

“Are you okay with me cuddling you? Or do you want some space since you don’t feel good?” Eve asks softly, stroking Villanelle’s hair with one hand, careful not to catch on any tangles and worsen her headache. 

“No. Want you to cuddle me.” Villanelle requests, almost monotonously, and Eve can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t like her. She never lets Eve see her weak like this. In 2016, Villanelle caught literal pneumonia at Christmas time and still insisted on trying to join Eve on her Christmas dinner shopping, with Eve having no choice but to let her come. It instead consisted of Villanelle sleeping in the car in the supermarket car park instead of helping, with Eve giving her an ‘I told you, you should’ve stayed in bed’ speech to which Villanelle insisted ‘I’m not even that sick,’ her drained face and hacking cough suggesting otherwise. She’s the type to carry eight heavy shopping bags from the car to the house and pretend like they aren’t cripplingly heavy, instead of just splitting the journey into two and making things easy for herself. 

Something must be really bugging Villanelle for her to outwardly display signs of stress and defeat like this. Nonetheless, Eve returns to her position, big spooning Villanelle with their blanket draped over them. 

They’re an hour into the next questionable, low-budget Hallmark movie when Eve feels Villanelle fidgeting a little. It’s either fidgeting or trembling. She’s shifting her position every couple minutes, something she wasn’t doing earlier. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Head still hurt?” Eve purrs from behind Villanelle, stroking calming little circles onto the back of her hand. 

Villanelle can only nod, sniffling a little. 

Everything positively goes to shit when their shitty movie has a shitty wedding scene between the two shitty main characters and Eve makes a shitty comment of, “That’ll be us soon.”

And Villanelle fucking falls apart in Eve’s arms. 

It starts with slow, gentle tears and soft trembles but it only takes a matter of seconds to progress into loud, gasping sobs and full-body shaking. Her chest is heaving and she can’t breathe, entire face wet from the amount and frequency of the tears running down. The sofa is wet and when Eve turns Villanelle round to cry into her chest, her t-shirt gets soaked. 

“Shhh, sweetheart.” Eve’s cooing, rubbing her hair and holding her so tight, hopefully making her feel protected and safe and loved. 

She’s seen Villanelle cry before, but nothing like this. When they got the keys to their first house, the very house they’re in right now, she cried tears of joy into Eve’s shoulder, overwhelmed and excited that they finally have their own place together. She cried the first time they watched Marley and Me, getting bullied by Eve for weeks as Little Miss ‘I-Don’t-Cry-At-Movies’ did in fact cry at a movie, multiple times. When she proposed to Eve on a balcony in Paris, Eve saw clear as day the tears welling in her eyes as she looked up at her from where she kneeled beneath her. But never before has Eve seen this full-body, intense, wracking cry before from Villanelle and the dread washes over her. Immediately, Eve is just thinking, ‘who hurt her?’ and ‘who do I need to kill?’

“I’m right here, baby. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Eve reassures her as Villanelle’s hand tightens in her shirt. She can hardly even make noise now, reflecting her laboured breathing. Any noises she does make come out in gasps and cries and whines, each sound breaking Eve’s heart further. Villanelle always makes a point of being strong and put-together, a rock and voice of reason for Eve. It makes her feel really uncomfortable to be vulnerable like this in front of anyone, and Eve just knows how unnecessarily embarrassed and humiliated she must be feeling right now. 

“We...can’t.” Villanelle gasps out, body wracking impossibly harder with her words, reduced to a shaking, crying mess. 

“Can’t what, baby?”

“Get married.” Villanelle sobs, nuzzling further into the warmth of Eve’s chest. 

Eve’s heart sinks a little at her words, but if Villanelle isn’t ready yet, she’ll never ever pressure her. They can postpone the wedding for another thirty years if that’s what she wants. 

“We can’t get married?” Eve asks gently, softly rubbing her fiancée’s back. “If you want to wait a little longer, that’s alright. We can talk about it, okay? Nothing’s set in stone yet. Don’t want you to be upset like this. You can talk to me about anything in the world. Do you just want to focus on baby stuff for now?”

Villanelle tenses up again, choked up as she manages to say, “We can’t have a baby.”

And Eve is a little worried now. Is she breaking up with her? In this weird, unconventional way? Is she joking? Is she just overly stressed? Is she drunk? She stays quiet for a minute, attempting to comfort her girl with her hands, pressing kisses to her scalp and forehead and whispering little “shhhh, you’re alright”s. 

“You always wanted a baby, sweetheart.” Eve coos, careful not to raise her voice too loud and startle her. She isn’t angry in the slightest, just confused and hoping to ask the right questions to understand Villanelle’s thought process. “Are you scared of the pregnancy? We could always look at adoption, remember? Or if you changed your mind about children altogether, we can talk about it. Remember we do what’s best for both of us. If you aren’t happy with something I’ll never make you go along with it. Please just talk to me.”

Villanelle’s shaking her head frantically, breathing out “I love you, I love you, I love you.” on every exhale, heart racing faster than Eve has ever felt a human heart race. It’s like she’s in the midst of a panic attack, and Eve doesn’t know the right course of action from here. Take her outside? She’s shaking too much that she won’t be able to stand, with or without support. Give her some breathing space? She’s clinging onto Eve tighter than she ever has before, physically unable to let her go. Count to 10 with her? She’s too hysterical to even listen. 

“I fucked up.” she whispers out, breath coming in pants that Eve feels against her clavicle from where Villanelle’s head is nestled. “You won’t want me anymore.”

And Eve lets out a sigh of relief at that. Because, really, there’s nothing Villanelle could ever do to make her not want her anymore. She comes to the conclusion that maybe Villanelle put their joint finances into overdraft. She bought something expensive or took out a big loan or borrowed money to someone or fell for an elaborate scam. It’s not a big deal. Money’s money. They’ll work something out. Or maybe she scratched Eve’s car again. It wouldn’t be the first time, but she must remember how pissed off Eve was last time that she worked herself up so much to tell her, getting herself wrecked over something that isn’t really a big deal in the long run. Or maybe she lost her job, in turn losing half their income and maybe they’ll have to rely on Eve to pay the bills for a month or two while she gets back on her feet. An inconvenience, but nothing too tragic. They have savings for a reason. 

Eve comes to accept that whatever she did, they can work through it, but as soon as the next words leave Villanelle’s mouth, she isn’t so sure anymore. 

“I slept with someone else.”

And at first, Eve feels nothing. She can’t muster a single sound or facial expression or movement. She stares at the wall and the wall stares back. Villanelle’s shaking and crying in her grasp harder than before, but Eve feels disconnected from her all of a sudden. Moments prior, Villanelle’s pain was Eve’s pain and she’d do anything to cheer her girl up and see her smile again. Now though, she feels nothing. She can’t feel Villanelle’s trembles because her body is numb and she can’t hear her sobs because her ears are ringing so loud that she can’t hear her own thoughts. Come to think of it, she isn’t sure she has any thoughts. She might as well be a shadow, a reflection, nothing but a pile of cinders and ash. Her existence doesn’t feel tangible anymore. 

“Say something.” Villanelle squeaks out, noting the long silence and loosening of Eve’s embrace. 

Eve is snapped out of nothingness by the sound of the love of her life’s broken voice, and when she makes eye contact with Villanelle for what feels like the first time since she got home from work, she makes the sharp transition from feeling nothing to feeling everything. 

Her heart falls so deep into her stomach that she thinks she’ll throw up then and there. Fire burns through her, shutting down every organ one by one, starting with her lungs and then moving on to her brain and heart. Sensory neurons are incinerated until her body lays completely numb, head clouded with thick, dark, suffocating smoke that steals every possible thought or vocalisation from her. Villanelle’s touches on her face and collarbone and arms when she begs for any sort of reaction leave blisters in their wake, scorching Eve down to the bone. Blood is replaced by lava that makes the perpetual circulation excruciating, and she figures that death would be less painful than this. There’s not a single inch of skin or bone or muscle or tendon that doesn’t fucking burn and sting and leave her incapacitated. She’s almost fully dilapidated. 

When Eve’s vocal chords manage to muster out a single word, it feels so disconnected from her brain. She doesn’t know how to talk, doesn’t know what she’s saying, literally can’t hear herself. She knows she’s saying something, but she doesn’t know what it is or if it makes sense or if Villanelle can even hear her. 

“When?”

And Villanelle lets out a small sigh of relief, probably just glad that Eve isn’t actually braindead. Not outwardly, anyway. 

“Three months ago.” Villanelle croaks out, running out of tears and simply dry sobbing, trying desperately to grab onto Eve’s hand or touch her literally anywhere, but Eve is twisting out of her grasp. She still lays behind her, but any skin-on-skin contact looks like it genuinely pains her. Eve swears she can hear the skin sizzling and frying any time Villanelle touches her. 

Eve nods, coming to her senses a little now. She’s on the sofa. With Villanelle. In their house. Her bearings come back to her as she looks around the room. There’s a canvas on the right hand wall of Eve and Villanelle standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, Eve excitedly standing with the back of her hand facing the camera, showing off her brand new engagement ring. It’s their favourite picture together, and it’s one of the focal points of their living room. She can see the shelf of weird, ugly trinkets that Villanelle insists on buying at every tourist souvenir shop on their once-a-year vacations. There’s a killer whale ornament from SeaWorld Orlando, glass pyramid statues from Giza, a red and black spotted fan from Barcelona, a reindeer snow-globe from Oslo. Once Eve recognises her surroundings again, her breathing calms a little more. 

“How many times?” she breathes out, not exactly wanting to know the answer, but it’s important to ask. If it’s once, maybe they can work through it. Maybe they can call it a mistake, get some couples’ counselling and heal. Maybe Eve might be able to move on from the betrayal and shame and embarrassment and unworthiness she feels right now. 

Villanelle just shakes her head, and Eve swears she’s gagging and swallowing back vomit beneath her, half expecting her to throw up all over her. She looks so broken. The logical side of Eve wants to slap her and throw her out and break all her shit but the in-love side of Eve wants to wrap her up and coo at her and rock her until she sleeps in her arms. Maybe she’ll wake up and this was all a dream and she can show her soulmate just how much she doesn’t want to lose her. Villanelle won’t answer, just repeating over and over again that she loves Eve and she can’t lose her and she fucked up. 

“How many times, Villanelle? Answer me.” And her voice is raised now. The nothingness transitioned to pain and the pain is transitioning to anger and the anger makes her want to hurt Villanelle. She won’t hurt her. Could never ever hurt her. But the feeling is overwhelming at this point and she just needs Villanelle to co-operate, say fucking anything. 

“Three.”

Eve’s outwardly very calm. It’s almost unsettling. She loosens her grasp on Villanelle even further until they’re barely even touching anymore, just lingering, ghosting brushes every few moments that don’t feel satisfying or safe like they did before. They feel like a looming threat. 

“Okay. Three times,” Eve takes a deep, albeit shaky, breath. “Same person three times?”

She doesn’t know if yes or no would hurt more. On one hand, three different people would mean it’s nothing personal, just random hookups. The same person three times might hint to underlying feelings or connections or sparks, finding something in this girl that she couldn’t find in Eve. On the other hand, Villanelle seeking out random hookups would suggest that she’s so unhappy with Eve, she’s willing to fuck literally anyone else to get away from her. At least if it’s the same person, they can maybe work out what this girl has that Eve doesn’t and work on that. Or maybe Villanelle will be happy with her and they can move in together and get married and have a baby with Eve out of the picture and maybe that’s better. If Villanelle gets any form of happiness out of it, then it wasn’t all for nothing, right?

“Yes. Same person.”

“Okay. Do I know her? Is she from your work?”

“She’s from work. You don’t know her. She started after you left.” Villanelle isn’t crying anymore. She ran out of tears a while ago. She’s bracing herself for the impact like they’re doing 70 on a 30, careening towards a sharp bend in fifth gear. The crash and burn is inevitable and both girls have accepted their fate. Her fingers are still trembling as she fidgets with the bottom hem of Eve’s t-shirt absentmindedly, trying to breathe slow to stop the impending panic attack from washing over her. 

Eve’s heart feels like it’s been ripped out, quartered, ran through a meat grinder, shredded in a paper shredder, and then blowtorched until it’s incinerated. She even thinks she might have a heart attack at one point, thinking about how tragically poetic it’ll be to literally die from this and prove that the pain she’s feeling isn’t all in her head. Truthfully, if death is a viable option here, Eve chooses it. 

“Why were you crying?” Eve asks calmly, unable to make eye contact with Villanelle, not that there was ever much of it to begin with. “Why are you upset?”

Eve pushes Villanelle off her now, feeling completely suffocated by her body heat and the heat of the blanket around them and the swelter of their living room and the dumb movie is still fucking playing and the characters are happy newlyweds and that should be them and that still could be them, except it couldn’t because Eve clearly doesn’t make Villanelle happy and it’s all so much, so sudden. 

“Because I love you and I need you and I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend.” Villanelle chokes out. 

She’s broken. Like, doesn’t even look salvageable at this point. 

She’s all tears and puffiness and redness and messed up hair and Eve in her normal state would help her get herself cleaned up and feeling pretty again, but Eve in her current state is just disgusted by her. Disgusted that she let someone else touch her. Disgusted that she went behind Eve’s back. Disgusted that she continued to talk about their future like nothing was wrong. Disgusted that she put them both in danger, probably not getting STI tested after her rendezvous and having the nerve to go back and have sex with Eve every night. Disgusted that she couldn’t talk to Eve about things sooner. If Eve wasn’t satisfying her in bed or was disappointing her in any other aspect, she could have just fucking told her and they could’ve fixed it. If her undying wish was to sleep with someone else, they could’ve talked about inviting someone else in for a night. They built their entire relationship on the foundation of trust. No topic of conversation or suggestion or question is taboo for them. They should feel comfortable talking about anything in the world. Every single part of this was preventable and for Villanelle to sit here and claim she loves her makes the rage bubble up to boiling point inside Eve. 

“I fucked up so bad.” Villanelle whispers, hiding her face with her hands. 

“Yeah, you did.” Eve agrees, tone cold and bitter. 

“I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. I love you so much. Anything you need me to do to make it up to you, I swear I’ll do it. You can sleep with anyone you want to make it even and-”

“Do you think that’s what this is about? Do you seriously think that’s the way to fix this? Let me go fuck whoever I want?” Eve’s shouting now, unable to maintain her composure any longer. “Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you. You have no idea how many opportunities I had to cheat on you. Girls flirting with me on business trips, offering me sex on the down-low. Hook-up apps screaming at me to download them whenever we were apart for a few days. But I never even considered it once because I love you and you’re the only one I want and you don’t get to sit here and tell me you love me after this. You wouldn’t do this to someone you love. Fuck, I thought we were stronger than this. I thought you were stronger than this.”

And Villanelle is crying again, somehow finding more, slow, hot tears somewhere in the depths of her ducts. Eve can’t find it in her to feel bad for her. Because, seriously, is it that fucking hard to keep it in your pants? They’ve had countless nights of FaceTime sex when they can’t physically be together and it’s fine and they can make it work and the fact that Villanelle resorted to some another girl when Eve was one call away makes her feel sick to her stomach. 

“I love you so much. We can get past this, I just-”

“Get out,” Eve demands, standing up off the sofa to unlock and open the front door for her. Her vision is too blurry to even find the keyhole and she’s fumbling with the key for a straight thirty seconds. In normal circumstances, Villanelle would find it endearing and funny, but right now shes broken and ripped apart and frightened. “You don’t get a say in this right now. Just get out.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Villanelle whispers, voice sounding so small and weak. You reap what you sow, though, and Eve doesn’t care if she sleeps in a peaceful field or on the middle of a highway at this point, just needs her out so she can breathe and think and cry and mourn. 

“Take your car. Go somewhere, I don’t care. Go to your girlfriend’s house. Sleep in your car. Sleep on the ground. I seriously do not care. Just drive far away from here so I’m not tempted to douse the car in gasoline while you sleep.”

Eve isn’t even thinking, just letting her mouth take over, saying anything and everything that comes to mind. 

“You destroy everything, Villanelle. See, just look at your phone,” Eve gestures to the perpetually cracked, fucked up iPhone sitting next to Villanelle on the couch. There’s no point in fixing her smashed phones anymore because they’re broken again within days. “You know why I made dinner tonight? After doing every other fucking chore in the house? Because you burn everything you touch. I couldn’t take one more day of you burning fucking pasta on a stove and having to order us takeout again. And you better be careful you don’t crash your car again tonight. Five times in six years you’ve totalled cars. And I haven’t forgot you used our joint finances to pay for your last two. I should’ve known that you aren’t careful. You break everything, and congratulations, I’m your latest achievement.”

And Villanelle doesn’t even say anything else, grabbing her phone and car keys and slamming the door behind her, causing a photo-frame of them to fall down and every lit candle in the living room to flicker. When Eve hears the telltale sounds of the engine turning on and the wheels turning against the stones in their front garden, she can finally breathe. 

What the fuck did she do?

-

Eve wonders if it’s a blessing or a curse that of all the chores and housekeeping she did today, the one job she forgot to do was clean their sheets. She’s laying on Villanelle’s side of the bed, body wracking from tears, inhaling the remnants of her scent that linger on the pillowcases. 

Everything is exactly how they left it. Eve’s shoes are messily scattered on the floor from when she was trying to find a specific pair before their date night, two nights ago. The TV remote is still nestled between their pillows from when they sleepily turned it off last night at an ungodly hour, three episodes deeper into their current binge-watch show than before. Villanelle’s water bottle and perfume and headphones are still on her bedside table in the exact position she left them. Clean clothes are still folded on a chair after neither of them could be bothered to put them away in the wardrobe last night. Everything’s chaotic and messy, but somehow so comforting. They left things like this when everything was okay. 

But now nothing’s okay.

Eve feels genuine pain in her heart and her stomach and her brain. Each sob and subsequent gasp for air feels like something clawing at her throat, scratching and dragging and cutting. Hot, thick tears are steadily running down in a stream, individual tears unidentifiable from the sheer amount. She’s shaking like a leaf and ready to throw up the entire contents of her stomach. 

What did she do wrong? Maybe she wasn’t good enough in bed or wasn’t pretty enough or didn’t have as nice of a body or didn’t give her what she wanted. 

Why did her best friend have to hurt her like that? The whole foundation of their relationship is and always has been trust and communication. They talk about anything and everything, with any mini disagreements discussed and fixed well before they can brew into fully-blown arguments. Eve trusted Villanelle with her life. 

How does Villanelle really feel right now? Sure, she was crying, but it was her idea and her doing and her fault. If she really cared, she wouldn’t go back and do it another two times. Maybe she’s with her side piece right now, popping champagne and celebrating that their main hurdle has been jumped. 

Who is this girl? Eve has met plenty of Villanelle’s co-workers. She knows the majority of her department by name, despite leaving a year ago and only personally knowing a few of them. Has Villanelle talked about her before? Has Eve met her before?

Did they kiss each other? Meaningless sex is one thing, but if they kissed or held hands or cuddled afterwards, it’s so much worse. Eve had foolishly thought for the last three months that she was the only one doing that stuff, and maybe she was wrong. 

And Eve’s heart breaks entirely when the next question pops into her mind. 

Did they do it in this bed?

Suddenly, their bed feels less like a comforting reminder of normality and more like an inescapable prison. The ghosts of Villanelle and her side piece could very well remain lingering in these sheets forever. Eve can’t help but wonder how they did it. If they touched each other or if it was one-sided, if they used the toys that Eve and Villanelle had accumulated over the years, if they both came. Maybe every time Eve and Villanelle had sex in these sheets thereafter, Villanelle’s head was preoccupied with the memories of another girl. Maybe when Eve felt her wetness, it was remnants from previous sex hours earlier. Or maybe she was flat-out imagining the other girl was with her instead. When Eve casts her mind back to every time Villanelle insisted they do doggy style or reverse cowgirl over the last few months, it feels like her heart is being ripped out all over again. 

It’s not registering in her head anymore. Her head wants to see Villanelle and be comforted by Villanelle and be held by Villanelle, not taking into account that she can’t do that right now. For the past six years, whenever she was sad, Villanelle was there to comfort her and make it all better and this is all new. Part of her wants to call her back over so they can cry and cuddle together. Part of her wants to kill Villanelle and then herself. It’s a lot to process. 

They’ve never even spent a night apart since moving in together four years ago. Any time they had to sleep with a physical distance between them, they FaceTimed the entire night instead. Waking up through the night, cold and alone, yet still hearing Villanelle’s soft snores through the shitty iPhone microphone was always enough to comfort Eve and lull her back to sleep. It’d be all too easy to FaceTime her right now and they could sleep together in silence like they always do, but she musters the self control from somewhere within herself to stop. They’ve never gone to bed angry. And Eve doesn’t even know if she’s angry or sad or a combination of both. 

_“I wish we could stay here forever.” Eve sighs, admiring the views of central Paris from their tenth floor balcony. They’re wearing only white fluffy hotel robes watching the beginning of the sunset, drinking wine and relaxing before going out somewhere fancy for dinner. Maybe a steakhouse or a Thai place._

_Villanelle is outwardly nervous, drinking her glasses of wine twice as quickly as she normally would and constantly offering to fill up Eve’s glass. She finishes three glasses for every one Eve finishes. Eve notices her slightly antsy behaviour, but doesn’t think twice about it, putting it down to excitement about being in Paris or tipsy-ness from them being half way down their third bottle._

_“Maybe we could move here someday. Like, when we’re old and retired.” Villanelle adds, watching all the couples stroll through the streets below them. The black, spaced out metal bars of the balcony allow for almost uninterrupted people-watching and they’ve sat up here together for at least an hour every night of their trip. It’s summer, so the air is warm even at night, perfectly comfortable._

_“Okay, that’s the plan,” Eve affirms with a head nod, holding out her hand for her girlfriend to shake on. “In like 35 years, we’ll live here. On this very street. And we’ll eat croissants for breakfast every morning and ride bicycles with baskets on the front and dress all fancy and talk to each other in French. Deal?”_

_Villanelle smiles playfully, reaching out a trembling hand to shake Eve’s. Her leg hasn’t stopped bouncing up and down for the past hour, attempting to release some nervous energy pent up inside her. “Deal.”_

_“You’re all shaky,” Eve giggles. “Are you drunk already?”_

_“No.” Villanelle attests, and they leave it at that. There’s a comfortable silence between them as they drink their wine and watch as the sky turns orange and pink and yellow and they’re so content. Soaking in each other’s presence like this will forever be so safe and familiar._

_When Villanelle excuses herself to go back into their hotel room, Eve doesn’t think much of it. Assumes she’s going to the bathroom or getting more wine from the mini-fridge or grabbing her phone from where it lays charging on the bedside table. The sounds of suitcase zips and rummaging are audible from the balcony, and Eve guesses she must be putting actual clothes on in preparation for their dinner date. It’s all calm and peaceful and they’re having the best trip with no care in the world. It’s all they’ve needed after the constant ever-growing pressure their office has them under, day in, day out. All is as it should be._

_“Eve,” Villanelle nervously stutters, eliciting a nonchalant ‘mhm?’ from her girlfriend who is still admiring the views of the River Seine and boutique hotels and boulangeries and fashionable storefronts. “Look at me.”_

_When Eve turns, her girlfriend looks positively terrified, fidgeting and trying to avoid strong eye contact, hand permanently stuck in the large right-hand pocket of her robe. All Eve can do is look up in confusion and slight worry._

_“I...was going to do this in the restaurant, but I think I’ll die of panic if I wait any longer.” Villanelle bumbles around a little and then she’s down on one knee. “I didn’t want to do the kneeling thing, but I’m kneeling now so fuck it. I just...want to know if like...maybe you want to get married? To me? Like... will you marry me?”_

_Villanelle’s fumbling with the little black box in her pocket, initially opening it upside down and almost dropping the ring onto the concrete. It’s an eighteen carat, white gold Ritani ring that Eve just knows cost the entirety of a couple months’ paychecks alone. Her girlfriend is looking up at her nervously, hands shaking and throat gulping. When Eve smiles and makes surprised exclamations however, she visibly matches her smile and tears begin welling in her eyes._

_Of all things Eve expected from their trip, it wasn’t this. She always envisioned herself to be the one to propose, steadily putting money aside in a secret savings account for nearly a year to buy a ring without Villanelle knowing. All Villanelle’s throwaway comments of, “I hope you don’t propose to me when my nails look ugly.” and “If you propose to me in public, I’ll say no.” were evidently just ploys to catch Eve off guard. And it fucking worked. Because here is Eve, disorientated and confused and crying and thrilled, frantically nodding her head on a balcony in Paris._

_“Yes. Yes.” she practically squeals, getting out of her seat to kneel down beside her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around her and knocking them over onto the ground. “I love you so much. Yes.”_

_And they’re lying in tears on the floor of the balcony, kissing and giggling and crying together. Villanelle puts the ring on Eve’s marital finger, laughing at the way it’s a couple sizes too big and nearly slips off right off the bat. (“Why have I never realised how tiny your fingers are?” “They’re a normal size, yours are just weirdly big.”) They make a mental note to change it for one that fits properly soon. Eve physically can’t stop staring at the beautiful ring and staring at her beautiful fiancée and feeling the happiest she’s ever felt._

_“I love you so much, Evie.” Villanelle breathes out against her lips, unable to stop smiling and giggling and kissing her. “Forever.”_

_“I love you too. So, so much.”_

_Their plans of eating out somewhere fancy are foiled, and they opt to stay in their hotel room and order room service just so they can spend the rest of the night kissing and shooting the shit and planning ideas for their wedding and gushing over each other. Eve sends a picture of the ring, with views of Paris in the background to her friends and her mother and her coworkers with the caption, “I said yes!!”_

_Today’s the start of the rest of their lives together. Forever._

Eve prays that she wakes up, no longer alone, and it’ll all have been a bad dream and Villanelle can hold her and kiss her and make it all better. Maybe she’ll wake up still angry and Villanelle can tease her about it. Tell her that she can’t be mad about something she did in a dream, reassure her that she’s being silly and it’s not real and she would never do that. The pain in Eve’s chest would’ve woken her up long ago if she was dreaming, though, so she doesn’t have much hope. 

All Eve can do is reminisce on twenty four hours ago when they were cuddled up together in this bed ready to sleep, both too tired to do anything more, instead just holding each other. Villanelle’s hand played sleepily with Eve’s hair as they spooned, whispering soft little pleasantries of “I love you.” “Goodnight.” “Sleep well.” 

Villanelle’s voice echoes in her head, remembering all the sweet nothings she has told her over the years, clinging onto them with all her might. For once, she’s lulled to sleep by the thought of Villanelle alone. 

-

When Eve first wakes up, she almost forgets. It’s cold and Villanelle isn’t there, but they’ve had plenty mornings like this. Maybe Villanelle is in their en-suite shower, singing Party in the USA at a volume too loud for this time in the morning and using up all of Eve’s fancy, expensive soap that she was specifically warned to use sparingly. Maybe she’s downstairs watching Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares, ranting about everyone’s poor presentations with a mouthful of toast. Maybe she’s attempting to cook bacon for her and Eve, inevitably burning it and settling for bowls of cornflakes instead. 

But she’s not. 

She’s out somewhere doing God knows what with God knows who and Eve starts to regret throwing her out last night. Would it have hurt to let her sleep on the couch? Or the spare room? Or the empty nursery? Or maybe even their bed, with Eve? 

Eve’s not hysterical anymore. She’s back to feeling nothing, aside from the intense love she has for her fiancée. Her phone buzzes for the first time this morning, and she figures she can’t continue to ignore it any longer, having blown off easily twenty phone calls and fifty text messages last night. It’s a text from Villanelle, and Eve can’t help but note that even when they’re apart they seem to wake up at the same time. 

‘Morning, sweetheart. Can I come over to talk?’

It makes a contrast from the desperate, spammed ‘I’m outside’ ‘I love you’ ‘Answer me’ texts she sent last night and all through the night. By the looks of their call log, Villanelle didn’t sleep at all, calling every twenty minutes or so on the off chance that she might finally get an answer. And Eve doesn’t know why but she feels bad. No matter what Villanelle did, seeing her upset and stressed and hurt like this is never good. After all, they’ve been in love for almost seven years. That love can’t just dissipate in an instant. 

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, so close to telling her to get back here and they can put all this behind them and forget. It wouldn’t be practical, though. Eve hasn’t fully thought about what happens from here. Does she forgive and forget? Does she break up with her? Does she give her another chance? Does she cut off all contact? It’s never a situation she has ever envisioned happening and so she has no idea of how normal people would react. She makes the conscious decision to keep friends and family out of all this so that whatever decision she makes isn’t swayed either way. Eve types a simple, ‘Door’s open’ and drops her phone somewhere, curling into a blanket burrito and staring at the wall, dread washing over her like a crashing wave. All that’s left to do now is wait. 

-

The sound of the front door slamming and footsteps slowly ascending upstairs alerts Eve to Villanelle’s presence. With every step she hears her fiancée take, she wishes the ground would swallow her up further and further, spitting her back out a pile of bones. There’s a soft, tentative knock on the bedroom door that Eve ignores, before Villanelle invites herself in anyway. It is still her bedroom too, after all. 

Villanelle’s dressed exactly as she was when she left last night, hair messy and makeup completely cried off. Dark circles cast a shadow around her eyes from lack of sleep and she looks entirely empty, not even smiling at or greeting Eve when she walks in. Without a sound, she moves over to the bed and sits on the edge next to where Eve lays. She lifts her hands to her face and begins crying all over again, like a repeat of last night, only this time Eve isn’t comforting her. 

“If you’re going to cry the whole time, just leave.” Eve jeers, never once moving from her position. All she can see of Villanelle now is her back and messy hair as she makes pathetic sobbing noises that Eve doesn’t care to entertain. Sure, it hurts like fuck to see the love of her life upset, but she came here to talk. Things can only get better if they talk. The more she admits to herself that all she wants is to cheer Villanelle up, the further back this progress gets pushed. 

“Can I lay down with you?” Villanelle croaks, turning around now to look Eve in the eye. 

“No. You came here to talk, so talk.”

“I just wanted to tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I had a whole script planned for talking to you again but, fuck, I just can’t do this. I can’t be apart from you like this. You’re my best friend and I miss you. It’s only been like twelve hours and I miss you more than anything. Please just tell me what I can do to fix this, I’ll do anything.” 

Eve sighs, turning round so that she’s looking up at the ceiling and she can see Villanelle in her periphery. It’s enough for now. Truthfully, just being in her presence is making her feel better in some weird, fucked-up, twisted way. “Need you to tell me every detail. About the girl and what you did with her. That’s all I need for now.”

“Will you break up with me?” Villanelle sounds so fragile, as if any vocalisation could smash her into tiny pieces. 

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. Tell me.”

Villanelle lets out a shaky exhale, reaching her hand out to hold Eve’s, which is unsurprisingly swatted away. “Um, well we slept together-”

“Yeah, no shit. What’s her name? How did it happen? Where was it?” Eve is quickly running out of patience. She notices straight away that the soft, broken, in-love Eve that reflects through her thoughts is not present in her words. Her mouth does all the talking for her, snapping and mocking, while her brain takes a backseat to wallow and mourn. 

“Her name is Amy. We were at our friend’s housewarming party the first time.”

And Eve’s heart sinks because she knows the exact party Villanelle is talking about. 

_“Promise you won’t get too drunk, baby.” Eve kisses her fiancée goodbye with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ as Villanelle unbuckles her seatbelt._

_“I promise.” she giggles in response, already tipsy off the red wine she drank while getting ready, having to change shirt after spilling half a glass down herself. “I love you. Thank you for the ride!”_

_“Text me if you need me, alright? Whenever you need me to come pick you up, just let me know. If you get a taxi home like you did last time, I’ll be mad at you.”_

_Villanelle laughs and places another kiss on Eve’s cheek. “I won’t. I love you. I’ll see you later.”_

_Eve watches as Villanelle jogs excitedly over to her friend’s new house, holding a fresh bottle of wine in one hand and a housewarming gift bag in the other. She stays parked outside until she sees Villanelle get in the house safely and then drives off back home to relax for the next few hours. Villanelle often gets herself into bad situations when she’s drunk, her friends having to call Eve on multiple occasions to come get her because she’s throwing up so much or trying to fight people or unable to stand. If she’s honest, Eve hates getting drunk with Villanelle nowadays, hates having to spend her whole night mothering her and cleaning up after her. She was invited as a plus one to the party tonight, but decided against it for that very reason._

_It’s radio silence for about two hours. Eve takes the time to make some food for herself and relax on the sofa, watching her TV shows and anticipating the inevitable “Villanelle needs your help, she drank too much again.” phone call. Surprisingly, it never comes. Instead, it’s a FaceTime call from Villanelle herself._

_“Hi baby,” she slurs as soon as her face pops up on Eve’s phone. By the looks of things, she’s in a bathroom alone. “I miss you.”_

_“I miss you too, sweetheart. Are you having a good time?” Eve smiles at her phone, happy as ever to see her fiancée._

_“Yeah. I wish you were here, though.” Villanelle sighs, propping her phone between the floor and the wall and sitting down next to it. “Like, really wish you were here.”_

_And Eve knows what Villanelle’s trying to do. She’s trying to initiate FaceTime sex. They do it every so often when one of them has to be away for something, literally just consisting of them masturbating together and talking each other through it. And Villanelle’s trying to initiate it on her friend’s shiny, new bathroom tiles in the middle of a party. It’s no wonder Eve is opposed to it._

_They set one singular rule for sex where one girl is drunk and the other isn’t. If the drunk girl might regret it in the morning, it’s not happening. After almost seven years together, it’s safe to assume that drunk consent between them is equivalent to sober consent, so it’s not really a big deal. As long as the sober party doesn’t try some crazy, kinky, new stuff, it’s very unlikely that there will be any regrets in the morning. They’re almost married, after all. But Eve decides that doing this with a very drunk Villanelle who is surrounded by friends in a public setting is something that she very possibly could regret in the morning. When they’re together in private, it’s fair game. But right here, right now just sounds like the alcohol talking. So she won’t agree to it._

_“Do you want me to come get you? We’re not doing this over FaceTime right now.” Eve tells her, internally cooing at her little disappointed face._

_“But I miss you.” Villanelle whines._

_“You can wait until I pick you up, okay? Whether that’s now or in a few hours, it’s up to you.”_

_Eve is very used to drunk Villanelle’s incessant horniness by now. The last time Eve picked her up from a party like this, Villanelle was all over her neck with her lips and all over her thighs with her hands while Eve tried to drive without crashing them into a wall. They eventually ended up pulling over somewhere private and getting Round 1 out of the way in the car. In the early stages of their relationship, they would go clubbing together with friends every weekend and both get as drunk as each other. Eve can’t count the amount of club booths, dance floors and bathrooms she’s been fingered in over the years. Following their engagement, they went on a romantic ‘engagement-moon’ to Northern Italy, and Villanelle got so worked up during a very fancy, expensive wine tasting tour that they had to leave early. If they hadn’t, Villanelle would’ve jumped Eve’s bones in a vineyard. All in all, she’s used to this by now. But she knows exactly when it’s appropriate to give in and when it’s safer to say no._

_There’s no response from Villanelle for a moment, until Eve hears banging on the bathroom door, girls calling out her name and shouts of “Hurry up, we’re doing shots!”_

_“Coming, guys!” Villanelle yells back and lifts her phone up from the floor. “Do you wanna meet my friends?”_

_Eve doesn’t exactly get much say when Villanelle drunkenly staggers out of the bathroom towards the kitchen where all the girls are gathered, shoving her phone in each girl’s face and introducing them to Eve. (“Eve, this is Dana. Dana, this is my fiancée Eve, isn’t she pretty?” “Eve, this is Julia. Julia, this is my fiancée Eve, look how nice her hair is.”)_

_Eve swoons at how excited her girl is to show her off and the nice things she says to her friends. They all make “You should have came!” and “How do you put up with this little riot?” comments that make Eve smile. One comment addressed to Villanelle in the background is different, though._

_“Is your wife really making you FaceTime her?”_

_And Villanelle’s reply isn’t what Eve hopes it would be. She hopes that Villanelle clears up that Eve isn’t some crazy, overbearing fiancée who can’t let her have fun for two seconds. Frankly, she’s annoyed that anyone would even think that. Villanelle called her. Eve is perfectly happy to let her do what she wants, she trusts her with anything at all._

_Villanelle doesn’t defend her though, just quietly tells the girl, “She’s not my wife.”_

_(Eve sees Villanelle’s suggestive eyebrow raise and smile when she looks at this girl. It’s probably an inside joke between them. There’s literally nothing to worry about, so she forgets about it as quickly as it happened.)_

“You did it at that party? The one where you FaceTimed me?”

“Yeah. It was after I FaceTimed you.” Villanelle can’t make eye contact, fixated on staring at the corner of the carpet like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“So how did it come about? Who started it? Did you kiss her? How did you do it? Did she touch you?”

“Fuck. Let me think, Eve. Stop rushing me.” Villanelle snaps, immediately regretting it when she feels the tension impossibly thicken in the room. 

Eve sits up from where she’s laying down. “This is on my terms. If you don’t want to answer my questions then leave. You’re on thin ice here,” Villanelle looks up at the ceiling and her hands are immediately wiping away tears that are rolling down her cheeks. “And don’t cry either.”

“It was both of our idea. You know how I was to you on the phone. You know I get like that when I’m drunk. We went up to the bathroom together just because we both had to pee while everyone else was outside in the summerhouse. One thing lead to another and-”

“Don’t give me that shit. The ‘one thing lead to another.’ Give me details.” Eve chastises. “Fuck, baby. I just need to know everything. Please.”

Villanelle sighs deeply, “She kissed me. In the bathroom. And I didn’t want her in that way but I was so drunk and my head was foggy and I wasn’t thinking.” Both girls are crying now, wanting nothing more than to comfort one another, but they don’t. “We...went into a bedroom. We did it with the lights off, Eve. I swear the lights were off and I was thinking of you. It was just hand stuff, nothing else. We never kissed during it, only that one time in the bathroom.”

Eve’s shaking her head, tears calmly rolling down her face before her cries turn into sobs and she has her head in her hands. It’s all feeling too real now. This happened. She didn’t dream it. Villanelle is trying to comfort her to no avail, stroking her hair and ‘shhh’ing, all while crying just as hard. They’re both a fucking mess. Eve is shaking and sobbing and hiding her face and it’s all Villanelle’s fault, but somehow Villanelle being with her is a strangely welcome comfort. It’s all so fucked up and unconventional.

“Was she better than me?” Eve manages to squeak out through her sobs, looking up glassy-eyed at Villanelle for any single reaction. 

“No, sweetheart. No one’s better than you. I made a mistake and we can try to work through it.”

“Then...” Eve’s vocalisations are fully halted by a pressing, shaky breath, lungs practically shrivelling up from lack of air. “Then why did you do it twice more?”

“I was drunk the second time, too. Same sort of situation. It was when I went to the bar for a couple drinks with the girls like a week later. No one invited her but she showed up anyway. We went back to Dana’s afterwards for more drinks and we did it again. This time it was only like five minutes, I didn’t even touch her. We were standing up against a wall and her hand went down there and I didn’t stop her. Even she asked me if she was better than you, and I straight up told her no. We didn’t even kiss.” With every word Villanelle speaks, it feels like a weight is taken off her shoulder and passed onto Eve’s. Eve now has to carry the crippling weight of every single word she says. Somehow, it’s cathartic, though. In a way, if Villanelle tells her exactly what happened, Eve’s imagination can slow down a little. For the past twelve hours, she has pictured all sorts of wild sexual scenarios involving Villanelle and someone else. Closure helps here. 

“You were drunk the second time? So, what about the third? You were sober?” Eve breathes out, chest heaving with panic and dread and sadness and betrayal. The way Villanelle’s eyes clench and her head tilts back tells her all she needs to know. 

“You were mad at me.” is all Villanelle can respond at first, breaking down into pathetic sobs again before consoling herself slightly. “It was when I scratched your car and you were shouting at me over the phone. I thought I was getting back at you or something. I drove to Amy’s house just to talk to her. She convinced me that you hated me and you were going to break up with me anyway. She told me that you don’t love me anymore. And I believed her and I was upset. I didn’t even want to do it that time. Sex was my only coping mechanism before I met you and I slipped back into that.”

And Eve feels ten times more destroyed than she ever has before. Villanelle fucked her sober. Sound of mind. Clear-headed. Responsible. She can’t blame the alcohol this time. 

“I...” Eve tries to talk, but the lump in her throat makes every attempt to stop her. “It’s a car. Of course I didn’t hate you. It was a £300 job to get it fixed. Fuck, I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you threw this all away for some random girl who wasn’t even good.”

Villanelle gives up any composure now, flopping backwards on the bed and touching anywhere she can reach on Eve’s body. Eve cowers away as usual, and Villanelle looks so defeated and tired and guilty. 

“I hate myself.” she pants out, scratching at her arms in an attempt to inflict any sort of physical pain on herself. “You shouldn’t have even let me in here. You deserve so much better than me.”

“I know I do.” Eve agrees. “And now I need to think about things.”

The engagement ring on Eve’s finger is burning a loop of blisters into her skin as though it’s being heated with a blowtorch. Once again, she’s smothered in heat and fire and smoke and magma and she needs Villanelle to leave before she erupts. 

“I think you should go now.” Eve breathes out calmly. “Take clothes with you. I need time to process all this. I promise I’ll tell you when I’m ready to see you again.”

Villanelle lifts up to press a kiss to Eve’s forehead, a kiss that Eve can feel the warmth of long after the lips are gone. 

“I love you so much. Take your time. I’m so sorry, and I know you don’t trust me anymore but I need you to believe that I’m so fucking sorry.” Villanelle tells her, stroking Eve’s tear-stained cheek softly as she does. They’re both shattered mirrors at this point. 

“I love you too. So, so much. Just let me think. I need time to think.”

And with that, Villanelle’s gone again. Perhaps on a slightly lighter note than last night. There was no screaming match, no petty insults, no cheap shots. Just truth and talking and crying and thinking. It’s all they can want for right now. Maybe they can build from here. Maybe they can heal from this. 

-

Eve calls in sick to work for the next week. Tells her boss she’s grieving. Details are no one else’s business right now. Villanelle probably does the same, considering she’s living out of her car with only her phone and a small bag of clothes. They haven’t seen each other in three days anyway, so it’s anyone’s guess. 

Whatever the closest thing to dying without actually dying is, Eve is going through that. It feels like when a character in a fighting video game is weak and almost dead, and the other opponent has one last strike to finish them off and kill them for good. If the world is the other opponent, Eve wishes it would fucking hurry up to KO her. 

She hasn’t showered, brushed her teeth, or ate a single thing in the past three days. It doesn’t matter though, because she’ll be dead soon. Hopefully. Hours feel like minutes and minutes feel like seconds, losing entire days just staring at walls and thinking and crying and reminiscing and thinking some more. 

_“One day we’ll have a little baby in here with us.” Villanelle coos, pointing at the space in between their bodies._

_“I can’t believe we’re actually gonna be parents,” Eve muses, casting her eyes down to the empty, baby-sized spot on the bed. “It feels so surreal.”_

_Villanelle is just beaming, having been so excited to be approved for IVF for years and yesterday, they finally got the go-ahead. They’re officially on the waiting list. It’s been a long, confusing, treacherous journey to get to this point, filled with mountains of paperwork and weird, invasive examinations but they got through it together._

_“Be honest. Would you rather have a boy or a girl? Like if you had to pick.” Villanelle bubbles, looking intently at Eve for an answer._

_“I don’t know if we could handle a little girl. Especially with your DNA, she’ll be bossing us around as soon as she learns to talk. Imagine me having to live with two drama queens in this house.” Eve giggles, mind running wild with thoughts of dressing their little girl up and having their own little princess. A mini-me running around._

_Villanelle nods and laughs at the all-too-realistic vision. “Maybe a boy could balance our family out. When he’s older, he can look after his mommies. Apparently baby boys are more easy-going too. I just feel like I’d have no idea what to do with a boy.”_

_These breezy, early-morning chats about parenthood and the future are becoming more and more frequent. They have a definitive end-point now. In eighteen months or less, Villanelle will be pregnant (hopefully that is, if the treatment works out.) and in twenty-seven months or less, their baby will be here. Like physically here with them. Out in the world. An actual human who depends on them and loves them. Eve has never ever had the desire to have children with any of her past partners until she saw the way Villanelle reacts to babies. She’s so fascinated and intrigued and taken by them, eyes gleaming and smile beaming. When she first nervously voiced her want for kids two years ago, Eve knew straight away that Villanelle would be the most perfect mother and that it would be the next logical step for them. They looked into adoption and fostering first, because Villanelle wasn’t sure about pregnancy, but they decided to at least have one biological child and figure out the rest later._

_Their family is finally about to start growing and they couldn’t be more over the moon about it._

Eve finds herself mourning the fucking baby. This random ovum inside Villanelle that is still seven months shy of being fertilised. It’s just a fucking cell. But it’s the idea that counts. 

They had plans of how to decorate the nursery, eyeing up cute, neutral paint colours and bumblebee decor. A white wicker and wooden cradle sits in Eve’s cart on Amazon, ready to be purchased as soon as Villanelle falls pregnant. Whenever they see a cute baby accessory while shopping, they can’t stop themselves from buying it. Admittedly, it isn’t much so far, reflecting the long wait until the baby is here. A bumblebee shaped clock takes pride of place on the left wall, and just the sight of it brings tears to her eyes, remembering how happy Villanelle was with it. (“The baby can’t tell time. Why do they need a clock?” Eve had asked with a giggle when Villanelle excitedly brought it home. “Because it looks cute, okay?” Villanelle attested, already digging through the crap-drawer in their kitchen for a spare nail to hang it up.) There’s a massive stuffed elephant sitting upright in the corner of the would-be nursery, a cute Dumbo onesie from Disneyland folded in a drawer and a white baby blanket knitted by Eve’s mom after they told her the news. She had promised to knit all sorts of blankets and hats and clothes and teddy bears for the baby closer to the time, but she couldn’t stop herself from making the blanket so early. Now, as Eve steps out of bed for the first time in a while and makes her way to the empty, cold nursery, the blanket looks like it’s mocking her. It’s folded up and sitting on top of the white Ikea drawers they were going to use for baby’s clothes, just gathering dust and waiting patiently to be used. Eve can’t shake the feeling that it maybe never will be. 

They had a bunch of names picked out, pretty much from the get-go. If they even go ahead with this, there’s still sixteen months until the baby comes. And it’s named already. They managed to cut down their long lists to a final girl name and a final boy name. Maybe someday they’ll get to use said names, but the outlook doesn’t look great at the moment. 

With a sigh, Eve makes her way back out of the nursery, closing the door tight like before and taking a shaky breath. Maybe if she can tackle the shower today, she’ll feel better. If she can wash every remnant of Villanelle off herself, she can make a fresh start. She can transform her body into neutral territory and maybe then she won’t be so affected by Villanelle, even in her absence. That’s the thing. Villanelle has touched and kissed every single inch of Eve’s body in the seven years they’ve been together. Not a single piece of Eve feels like it belongs to her. She’s all Villanelle’s. Every fucking inch. Villanelle is all over her and clouding her instincts and making her doubt every thought. If she turns the water as hot as she can bear, maybe she can flush out her pores, burning the lingering touches out. 

She starts with an abrasive body scrub, squirting it out more liberally than Eve in her normal mind would ever dream of, until her entire palms are coated in the thick scrub. She immediately gets to work, rubbing hard against every single inch of skin on her body. Whenever she runs out of scrub, she pours some more out and slathers it on again. If she scrapes hard enough, maybe every ghosting kiss and touch that has rotted on her, polluting her skin cells for seven years can be removed. If she scrubs hard enough, maybe she won’t feel Villanelle’s burning, fiery omnipresence. When she’s adequately scrubbed from neck to toe, she goes back in to corrade more and more and more skin cells off with another layer of product. Her skin is glowing red after this second layer, but Eve’s not done. She won’t stop until she’s bleeding and Villanelle isn’t consuming her thoughts anymore. Reaching for the exfoliating gloves on the shower shelf, she decides she needs to take this even further. At this point, there’s no dead skin cells left anywhere on her body and anything she’s vigorously rubbing at now is new, tender skin. The reddening of her skin and the angry carpet-burn-like abrasions opening up across her entire body offer a new hope. Villanelle hasn’t touched this new skin at all. This is all Eve’s. And it hurts like fuck but so does everything else, so what’s so bad about adding some physical pain into the mix? And least it reminds her she’s still alive. 

(Eve finds herself eyeing up the bleach sitting next to the toilet. She can’t decide what she wants to do more: douse herself in it until her skin cells dissipate and she corrodes into nothing or chug the whole bottle like it’s water, feeling it shut down her organs and finally give her peace. She decides against both options though. Maybe another time.) 

-

Villanelle’s subsequent text spams go unread. Eve promised she’d be in contact with her as soon as she was personally ready to, but that’s not today or this week or any time soon. So Villanelle can wait. If she needs more clothes, she has Apple Pay to buy some. If she needs to shower, she can go to a friend’s house. There’s literally no reason for Villanelle to be pestering her like this, making her phone buzz every five seconds and calling non-stop. 

When Eve notices the buzzing of her phone is replaced by the ringing of her doorbell, she literally wants to die. Villanelle must be outside incessantly pressing like her life depends on it, while Eve stays laid up in her pyjamas in a pillow fort, forced against her will to listen to the sharp shrill echoing through her house. And fuck Villanelle for doing this. She agreed to give Eve some space and now she’s ringing the doorbell over and over, knowing perfectly well how much Eve hates the sound of it. Going against everything they agreed on. She can block it out, though. After fifteen minutes of straight ringing, Eve’s ears have reduced the noise to the sound of rain hitting against the window on a quiet night. Audible, but nothing too distracting. After thirty minutes of ringing, it’s just white noise, barely audible and Eve could probably sleep comfortably in spite of it. After forty-five minutes, the ringing stops, leaving Eve’s ears ringing in its wake. And Villanelle has given up. Truthfully, Eve’s proud that her self control didn’t slip once when it would’ve been so easy to just go downstairs and let her in. But she didn’t. And that’s good enough progress for today. 

After twenty minutes or so of mulling over whether or not she should’ve answered, Eve’s phone begins frantically buzzing again and she feels something has to be wrong. She always knows when it comes to Villanelle, without fail. And it’s hard to pretend she doesn’t care when Villanelle’s all she cares about. Picking up her phone, she opens the most recent of five voicemails from Villanelle, received two minutes ago. 

“Eve. Please, please answer me. I need your help. I’m in trouble. I know you’re there, please answer.”

Villanelle is audibly crying in the recording, that much is clear. She’s breathless like she’s been running and the wind in the background is unmistakable, blowing against her microphone and making her words difficult to understand. And Eve’s heart drops to her ass. She had just ignored Villanelle for forty-five minutes when she was potentially in trouble the whole time. Perhaps she’s being followed by someone creepy or the police are looking for her or her car broke down in the middle of nowhere or she needs to go to the hospital. Eve’s mind is fucking spinning as she skims through all Villanelle’s texts for a single clue to what’s going on, only finding ominous ‘I love you’ ‘Please talk to me’ messages. 

Eve watches in real time as the next message pops up, this time containing a picture. It’s a view from on top of a familiar bridge, a bridge they drive over every morning to get into work, a bridge they’ve took many evening strolls across, a bridge that’s known for having a steadily growing amount of jumpers every year. Eve almost has a heart attack when she reads the caption, ‘You’ll be happy when I jump.’

And she can’t ignore that. Of course she can’t fucking ignore that. So she calls Villanelle, making sure she stays put and doesn’t move, tells her she’ll be there in five minutes and Villanelle’s just crying and thanking her on the other end of the line and Eve just hates every second of this. Wishing they could just go back to before. This shit never used to happen before. Hearing and seeing her girl so fucking broken is the worst thing she’s ever had to experience and although she puts on a front, she wants nothing more than to wrap her up and protect her like before. Like she has done for almost seven years. 

These past few days, she’s been trying to work out if Villanelle deserves a second chance. Every logical centre in Eve’s brain is screaming “No, no, no.” but the hole in her heart is begging “Yes, yes, yes.” After all, without Villanelle she’s unhappy. With Villanelle she’ll be somewhat happier. It’s a lesser-of-two-evils decision. Leave Villanelle and shrivel up into a depressed little ball and never leave her house again or give Villanelle another chance and be constantly paranoid and untrustworthy and jealous. Sad and heartbroken vs sad and in love. It seems like a no-brainer that she’d pick the latter. 

That stuff doesn’t matter right now, though, because Villanelle needs her and she can’t drive there quick enough. Her engine is literally screaming at her as she accelerates faster than her gears can take right off the bat. It’s nearing 1am and there’s barely anyone on the roads and Eve’s driving 65 in a 40 in her fucking pyjamas and she’s almost crying. Her anger at Villanelle can wait until she knows she’s okay. Villanelle always knows exactly how to manipulate people and evidently, how to manipulate Eve. This whole thing is an empty threat and Eve knows it, but until Villanelle is sitting next to her in the car, she won’t think about that. 

-

The next time Eve sees Villanelle, she’s leaning over the barrier of the bridge, watching all the fast moving cars on the highway below. And as soon as Eve can see she’s alive and well, she’s furious. Relieved, but furious. 

“Get in.” Eve commands after she slows her car to a sharp stop beside Villanelle and lowers the passenger window. Villanelle turns and makes eye contact with her and Eve swears she can’t even recognise her. Something is just so off and wrong and weird about her appearance and Eve dreads that this is a side effect of the love fading. She doesn’t look the same as she used to. 

“You’re mad at me.” is all Villanelle states as she opens the car door and takes a seat next to Eve. “You ignored me all night.”

“Of course I’m mad at you.”

“You’re always mad at me.”

“Excuse me? You say that like I’m being irrational. You blow off a seven year relationship to go fuck someone else three times and then don’t let me have alone time to process it and then you pretend you’re going to kill yourself to get my attention. Of course I’m fucking mad.”

Eve starts driving again, illegally U-turning and accelerating as fast as she can to just get them the fuck home. If she thinks too much, she’ll crash. If she talks too much, she’ll crash. 

“Even before that,” Villanelle has her head tilted back on the headrest and she’s clutching at her stomach like it’s killing her. “All you did was complain and bitch at me. Banging on about the wedding we can’t afford, whining when I took overtime to pay for it. You want everything to go your way all the time.”

“Have you been drinking?” It’s rhetorical. Eve can smell it off her and hear it in her tone and sense it in her words. Villanelle can get really vicious after drinking, and Eve knows she has a long night of this ahead. She won’t remember any malicious or inappropriate comments in the morning and will likely apologise profusely and cry in Eve’s arms again. Eve’s tired of all the crying. 

Villanelle is slurring and slipping over every word, unable to focus her eyes on anything, head practically rolling around. “It’s no wonder I cheated.”

Everything Villanelle says while drunk is to be taken with a grain of salt, but Eve would be lying if she said her words didn’t feel like being stabbed in the gut. Whenever she looks at Villanelle, there’s no one there. It’s not the girl she’s engaged to, just as it never is when she’s intoxicated. Eyes are empty, face devoid of any emotion or empathy, but she still manages a “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“No, go ahead. Tell me more,” Eve deadpans. Drunk Villanelle can talk your ear off about anything at all, truthful or otherwise. On their last drunken night out together, she spent the whole taxi ride home telling the driver about their villa in Saint Tropez and their new Retriever puppy and her job as a police chief. None of it was true, but she’s convincing as fuck and the driver didn’t suspect otherwise. Nothing she says can offend Eve in this state because none of it is true. 

Villanelle’s spaced out, fixing her eyes on the speedometer then to Eve then her hands and she’s rushing to open the window because she’s “too fucking hot”, attempting to sing whatever pop song is playing gently on the radio and unbuckling and rebuckling her seatbelt. 

“You’re driving too fast, Eve. You’ll kill us both.” 

“Isn’t that what you want?”

-

“You’re sleeping on the couch. And if you throw up on it, you’re buying me a new one.”

As much as she hates to admit it, Eve’s looking after Villanelle. As she always does. As though nothing’s changed. There’s a clean basin next to her pillow incase she needs to throw up again, a cold glass of water on the coffee table to sober her up a little and two sugar-coated ibuprofen pills for her inevitable hangover in the morning. Eve helps her get out of her clothes and into a baggy, oversized lounge shirt. (It’s the first time Eve has seen her naked body since everything went to shit. And it’s not weird because that’s her fiancée and she’s seen her naked more times than she’s had hot dinners, but something about it just feels wrong. Like she’s not Eve’s to look at anymore.) She even puts some blankets in the dryer for a few minutes so they’re warm and fluffed up for Villanelle when they come out. It’s just a protective instinct that she can’t shake. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t still hurt and stressed and angry. 

“Thank you for taking care of me. You must hate me so much.” Villanelle whines from where she lays on their L-shaped sofa, having spent the last ten minutes kneeling over a toilet with Eve’s fingers shoved down her throat, coaxing out all the contents of her stomach. They always end up in that position after Villanelle has been drinking, since Villanelle has a strong fear and aversion to making herself throw up. Eve has always told her that she’ll never love anyone else enough to willingly get their puke all over her hands. Villanelle is the only exception. 

“I don’t hate you.” Truthfully, Eve still isn’t so sure about that statement. But her next statement, on the other hand, will always ring true. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Villanelle breathes out, looking up at Eve with such desperation. “I can’t lose you. We can’t lose this.”

“Goodnight.” Eve sighs as she places a tentative kiss to Villanelle’s forehead. Force of habit. “If you need me through the night, I’m right upstairs, okay?”

-

Eve’s in bed alone, slightly uncomfortable with the fact that Villanelle is under the same roof as her right now and they’re not together. Their bed seems infinitely bigger without Villanelle stretching out like a starfish and infinitely warmer without Villanelle hogging all the blankets. She’d prefer freezing her ass off with no space over this any day. 

And when Eve hears quiet, creeping footsteps and the mattress dip with Villanelle’s weight, she can’t bring herself to speak up. Her mind is screaming at her to kick her out and yell at her for crossing a line and disrespecting her space. She specifically told Villanelle that she can’t sleep in this bed, but her heart is fluttering and skipping beats and circulating comfort around her body alongside her bloodstream. It’s just like before. Just like every night before things went to absolute shit. If Eve squeezes her eyes closed tight enough, she can pretend nothing happened between them. There’s a gentle arm wrapping around Eve’s waist as the body behind her relaxes into a comfortable sleeping position and Eve pretends she’s fast asleep. Pretends she’s completely unconscious, counting sheep and paralysed in REM. The way Villanelle tangibly relaxes, her body transitioning from tense and uneasy to relaxed and soft, suggests to Eve that her act is working. If Villanelle doesn’t know she’s awake, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the cuddle. So she stays still and silent and evens her breathing and pretends she’s asleep in Villanelle’s arms until she really is asleep in Villanelle’s arms. 

-

“Are you awake?” are the words that ironically wake Eve up the next morning. 

Just as she was starting to convince herself that Villanelle’s embrace was all a dream, she’s forced back to reality where she’s still laying next to her on her designated side of the bed. And Eve has to feign annoyance, pretending she didn’t know Villanelle was there all night. (Eve realises she doesn’t know how to lie to Villanelle. She never ever lies to her. But evidently, Villanelle knows how to lie perfectly well.) 

“Did you think that was how to win me back?” Eve starts, voice still croaky from sleep. Her sharp, cutting tone contrasts against the warmth and contentment she feels inside with Villanelle’s arm still wrapped around her. “Get drunk off your ass, threaten suicide then sneak into my bed when I told you not to?”

Villanelle’s grip loosens slightly. “We’ll never get back to normal if you keep ignoring me.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to get back to normal.”

“So you’re just throwing away our entire relationship? You don’t even want to try?” Villanelle’s voice is raised and she can’t blame the alcohol anymore. Can’t blame her lack of sleep or distraction or herself. So now, it seems she’s blaming Eve. 

“I’m the one throwing the relationship away? Are you serious? You can’t keep it in your pants and that’s my fault?”

“You won’t even let me fix it so yes, it is your fault. You’re hiding from the issue and pretending it doesn’t exist. We need to work it out together. If you keep ignoring me, we won’t-”

And Eve shuts her up with a kiss. Like, a real kiss. The type of kiss they haven’t had in days. And she doesn’t know why but it feels like the right thing to do when objectively, it isn’t and it’s all a lot to process but Villanelle’s kissing her back and it feels normal. It is normal. They’ve had almost seven years of this. But there’s a rage building up in Eve’s gut that isn’t reflected by her tender motions and she’s never felt so fucking disconnected from her own body.

Villanelle seems hesitant to go any further without Eve’s implicit consent, so Eve takes it upon herself to introduce her tongue. This is different. Almost every time they’re in a sexual situation, Villanelle is the one calling the shots. It’s up to her when they escalate or deescalate, up to her for the most part when they switch positions, up to her what they do. Eve very much resigns herself to Villanelle 90% of the time, but now they’re both nervous and clueless and tentative. 

They can’t have sex. It’s going to bring them two steps forward and three steps back. But this very much feels like they’re going to have sex and when Eve’s shaky fingers start fumbling with the hem of her fiancée’s oversized sleep t-shirt, it’s basically confirmed. 

Villanelle’s shirt is pulled up over her head, leaving her with nothing but panties on. Straddling her waist and looking down at her bare chest, Eve can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t hers anymore. Villanelle isn’t hers anymore. Her small, pink nipples stand to attention almost immediately after being exposed to the cold air and normally, Eve would have her hands and mouth all over them by now. This time, however, she can only stare. All the freckles and birthmarks that Eve can map out by memory are still spattered across her collarbone and breasts and sternum and stomach. She still gets goosebumps wherever Eve touches her like always. But this time is different. Because Eve has to share it with someone else. 

“Did you...were you naked? With the other girl?” Eve breathes out, noting the way Villanelle’s breath hitches at the question. “Did she ever see you like this? I just...I have to know.”

“Yes.” And Villanelle’s eyes begin to tear up again and this isn’t meant to be sad. They’re suppose to be having some sort of angry hate sex where they’re slapping each other around and going for blood. They’re not supposed to be verging on tears with anxiety pooling deep in their stomachs. They aren’t even aroused in the slightest. Eve doesn’t think she even knows how to get aroused anymore. 

Nonetheless, she tentatively traces her fingers lightly over Villanelle’s torso, just taking in the sight. She’s so, so fucking used to this but right now she just feels useless. Never has Eve ever had to doubt herself when it comes to sex with Villanelle, but right now she’s almost frozen with fear. If Villanelle resorted to fucking someone else, she’s clearly bad in bed. All Eve’s confidence is completely stripped, feeling like a virgin again, frightened to do the wrong thing. Frightened to do anything. 

And Villanelle must pick up on this, probably sensing Eve’s anxiety through her trembles and feather-light caresses. “If you want, I could just touch you. You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to.” Her tone right now is the most gentle and understanding Eve’s heard in days. 

Eve shakes her head a little, having a newfound deep fear of her fiancée seeing her naked. The thought makes her want to throw up, actually. It’s so fucked up. They’re normally so comfortable being naked around each other, even in completely innocent ways like when one girl has to pee while the other girl takes a shower or while one girl is loading the washing machine and the other strips in the kitchen to get their current outfit washed. Not to mention the four straight years of sleeping naked together every night since they moved in together. And Eve cringes at the memory of ever doing that stuff. Villanelle must be so repulsed by her and Eve can’t focus on anything else as her sides are gently rubbed by weary hands through her t-shirt. When the t-shirt rides up her stomach a little from Villanelle’s soft movements, Eve tugs it straight back down like it’s an automatic reflex. 

“I...I’m keeping it on.” she manages to stutter when Villanelle is attempting once again to pull it over her head. And even if Villanelle doesn’t understand why, she respects this new boundary and drops the hem of the shirt immediately. 

Barely any words are spoken after that, just random, gentle touches on each other’s waists and necks and backs. It’s not even sensual, let alone sexual. Just awkward and sad and they don’t know how they got to the stage where they don’t even know how to have sex anymore. Eve doesn’t want Villanelle to touch her or see her body. Villanelle doesn’t want to push any boundaries or go at a pace Eve is uncomfortable with. They’re never going to meet in the middle like this. 

When Villanelle attempts to hook her fingers round the waistband of Eve’s pyjama shorts, she’s stopped by Eve defensively asking if they can turn the lights out. With a sigh of defeat, Villanelle nods but evidently, even with the lights out, Eve isn’t comfortable getting undressed. Villanelle makes a comment about the skin on Eve’s arms and legs being torn up and scratched and raw from her shower yesterday, asking her what happened and Eve wants to cover herself up even more. Even better, wants the ground to swallow her whole. 

Eve attempts to slide a hand into Villanelle’s underwear, but immediately stops herself to ask: “Are you...Is this safe? Did you get tested?” And Villanelle shakes her head and watches as Eve’s hand slowly slides back upwards and sits awkwardly on her stomach. 

So they decide to stop. Neither of them are particularly excited or enjoying themselves and it’s leading no where and they can’t remember how to even do it anymore. It’s only been around six days since they last had sex on this very bed, perfect and electrifying and just as amazing as always. It feels like a distant memory now. And Eve’s crying again. They’re both flopped on the bed, Villanelle still shirtless wearing only her panties and Eve fully dressed and attempting to hide her exposed legs and thighs with a sheet. And this is fucking torture. For almost seven years they’ve had the sex drives of rabbits, going at it pretty much every day, sometimes multiple times. They’ve tried practically every position in the Kama Sutra by now, explored every kink that even slightly interested them and done it in more scandalous locations than they can count. Sex is never hard for them in the slightest. It comes so, so naturally to them. And now it feels impossible and Eve can’t stop herself from sobbing again, being reminded once again that they probably can’t recover from this. 

“Hey, don’t cry. We can try again later, okay?” Villanelle tries to reassure her, but the tears brimming in her own eyes give her away. She must be feeling equally as defeated right now. All because Eve can’t suck it up and take her clothes off. But she supposes it’s better than Villanelle, who can’t seem to keep her clothes on.

“What the fuck did we do?” Eve sobs, turning to cuddle her head into her fiancée’s chest, feeling Villanelle’s soft, soothing caresses on her upper back. 

-

They lay in each other’s embrace in silence for upwards of thirty minutes until Eve’s choked sobs are replaced by the occasional sniffle or hiccup and Villanelle’s fast, anxious breaths are replaced by deep, even breaths. They’re cuddling like they always used to and it’s tearing Eve up inside that she can’t just let it go and forgive her. Every single cell in Eve’s body wants to forgive and forget but she can’t and it’s fucked up. 

“Do you remember when we first moved in here?” Villanelle asks softly, letting out a bittersweet, breathy laugh. “When we tried to paint these walls with those tiny little paint brushes because we didn’t have a roller. And I got paint all over the windows and you were so mad.”

“We almost killed each other that day.” Eve muses, smiling a little at the memories. “Remember us trying to bring all our furniture upstairs because we were too stubborn to hire men to do it for us? And when we finally finished at like 11pm, the house looked like a bomb had hit it and the heating didn’t even work and we didn’t have any food.”

“But we just cuddled and ordered pizza and talked about our future and we made it work.” Villanelle finishes, squeezing Eve a little tighter. “Do you think we can make this work again?”

“I miss you so much.” is all Eve can reply, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes once again. “I don’t want to shut you out again but I don’t know what else to do from here.”

Villanelle just sighs and places a kiss to the top of Eve’s head. This is easily the most civil they’ve been, so much so that they could pass it off like nothing happened. And Eve comes to the realisation that when you love someone more than you love yourself, there’s no use in letting them go. When you share your life with your best friend, your favourite person on Earth, there’s no use in letting them go. Being wrapped up like this with Villanelle feels so safe and comforting and this is all they need. Eve will evidently crumble without her. Villanelle’s still the sweet, goofy, beautiful and loving girl she fell in love with all those years ago and maybe they can just treat this like a bump in the road. A final shot. 

-

On Monday, Villanelle takes her out to dinner after their first day back at work. Nothing gets said to Eve’s colleagues regarding her absence, with Eve knowing that they’d no doubt give her an earful that she isn’t interested in hearing. Villanelle pays for the meal from her own finances and spends the whole time flirting with her, reminiscent of the early days when they’d do anything to woo each other, as if they weren’t woo’d the second they laid eyes on each other. Eve can’t help but feel the once-diminished sparks light up again as they laugh and talk over their carbonara, for once genuinely forgetting about the recent past. 

On Tuesday, Villanelle cooks Eve dinner. To the best of her limited ability, that is. She’s careful now, keeping a watchful eye on the wok so the vegetables don’t burn and slow boiling the noodles. It’s admittedly not the greatest meal Eve has ever had, but Villanelle’s proud of it and so Eve is too. They eat while cuddled together on the sofa like old times, fluffy socks on their feet, watching their favourite TV show and having mini arguments over the plot. And this is normal. This is like before. 

On Wednesday, they manage to properly have sex for the first time in what seems like forever. Eve initiates and escalates and takes charge and Villanelle is just happy to do anything Eve wants. Villanelle’s gentle and sweet, not carnal and rough like she used to be, and it’s a welcome change. Lights stay off and curtains closed to allow no light in the room. Both girls’ t-shirts stay on — Villanelle’s in solidarity — as they make love in a way they’d previously forgotten how to do. It’s far from the perfect makeup sex they dreamed of, but they make it work and that’s the main thing. 

On Thursday, Villanelle pulls up a website on her phone to show Eve. It’s a wedding venue. A park with a gazebo and white outdoor furnishings and gorgeous gardens with flowers and trees and wildlife. She makes a joke that they’ll never get good enough weather for it, but they should put it on their list anyway. And Eve cries. Like a lot. Villanelle profusely apologises for pushing Eve’s forgiveness too far, telling her they don’t need to talk about getting married again until Eve’s ready. All Eve can say is, “I love you.” “I missed you.” because this is what she’s been missing for the past three months. Knowing that Villanelle still wants to marry her is endlessly reassuring and hearing an opinion that she never had to beg for feels like a weight off her shoulders. Villanelle’s going out of her way to look at wedding venues. Eve can’t help but feel butterflies for their big day all over again. 

On Friday, Villanelle drives them to an out-of-town community centre after work. They’re both nervous and don’t exactly know what to expect, but they’re doing the best thing for their relationship they possibly can. Maybe it really isn’t salvageable and they’ll inevitably crumble eventually, but they’re both trying their hardest at least. It’s all they can do. Walking hand in hand into this ominous building, they’re directed into a long hallway on the left, reading the signs on the walls that read - Marriage, Couple and Sex Counselling. Eve feels Villanelle squeeze her hand and sees her smile reassuringly. These weekly meetings with a professional are supposed to help them work through and understand their issues, strengthen their bonds and make things work. They’re doing the best they can, and that’s enough. 

-

It’s the beginning of 2022 when their lives are changed forever. Their baby girl arrives, after two failed IVF attempts and nine months of endless pain and complaining from Villanelle. 

_“Eve!” Villanelle squeaks at five months pregnant, waking up a half-asleep Eve laying next to her. It’s almost 1am and they’ve had a long day of painting the nursery, wanting nothing more than to just sleep for eternity._

_“What’s wrong, baby? Is everything alright?” Eve panics, turning around instantly, ready to help Villanelle with anything despite how tired she is. She’s had nightmares of waking up to blood on the sheets and Villanelle crying in pain and despair, something wrong with the baby. Eve has spent many nights rubbing Villanelle’s back as she throws up from pain and many evenings making whatever weird food combination Villanelle is craving at the moment. (Last week, it was just straight up ice. Villanelle wanted Eve to get her a bag of ice from the store, and with Villanelle’s newfound pregnancy grumpiness, Eve complied happily.)_

_Villanelle takes one of Eve’s hands and places it on her abdomen next to her own. And there’s movement going on in there. Albeit subtle, it’s movement. Before now, only Villanelle could feel their daughter kicking, with Eve feeling left out every time she placed a hand there and couldn’t feel anything. Now though, she can feel everything._

_“She’s kicking.” Eve states, bewildered and confused, before bursting into a smile, gleefully cheering. “Oh my God, I feel her!”_

_Immediately dropping her head down to Villanelle’s stomach, Eve begins talking to the baby as she does most nights. Gentle coos of “Mommy loves you” and “Can you get off your Mama’s bladder please? She can’t stop getting up to pee through the night and it wakes me up.”_

_“It feels so weird when she does this.” Villanelle giggles, placing a hand in Eve’s hair and stroking gently. “I’m just happy you can feel it this time. It feels like she kicks harder whenever you talk, I think you’re her favourite.”_

_“I love you.” Eve whispers to the bump and she kicks again._

_“See? She’s telling you she loves you too.”_

_“And I love you.” Eve tells Villanelle, sitting up to kiss her on the lips, keeping one hand on her stomach._

_“I love you too. So, so much.”_

And now there’s three of them. They still have plenty of healing left to go through, but their daughter seems to be the glue they needed to pull them back together for good. The past year and a half have been a mission of trusting each other again and falling back in love with each other, not that they ever particularly fell out of it. When the physical wounds healed, Eve was left with mental and emotional wounds to work through. Counselling helped them come to terms with the ‘what?’ and the ‘why?’ of Villanelle’s infidelity, talking about it in depth until there was nothing left unsaid, Villanelle consistently proving that she can be trusted and will never make the same mistakes again. 

They’re healing. They’ve got each other and they’ve got their baby and they’re healing. It may take ten, twenty years to complete. They’ll never go back to exactly how things were, but now they make new memories and set new boundaries and love each other in a completely new way. If it’s possible to love each other deeper than before, they do. They’ve had a taste of losing each other and they can never ever go back to that. Eve still has the nightmares of Villanelle running off with someone else, of finding her in their bed with someone else, of disappearing entirely. 

But they’re doing the best they can, and that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> call me old fashioned but i was raised to serve my wife. i clean the dishes and cook her food. i do whatever she says bc she is my wife and she makes the rules around the house. she owns me. i am her property. if she ever cheats on me it's bc i was lacking 
> 
> let me know if we’re team eve-is-dumb or team let-them-live-happy-ever-after
> 
> my mind is a prison. this is the shit i come up with. i swear im not a sadist.
> 
> (man these comments are making my day pls keep them coming😭 the girls are fighting!!) (v shoots eve in the show and kills all her friends and eve still eats her pussy but cheating is where u guys draw the line i love it)
> 
> thank u so much for reading!!
> 
> come scream at me on twitter: @astankovas_


End file.
